


Lebensmüde

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Depressed Will, Fluff, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Okay I lied there wont be smut, Post series finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, What Was I Thinking?, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is a Mess, cute stuff, idk about smut yet, maybe smut, post s3e13 twotl, will has psychological issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will pulled Hannibal off the cliff, he had every intent to die. When Hannibal saves him from drowning and they move to a small town and their problems are at a standstill, Will has nothing to distract him from his problems and consistent thoughts of suicide. Ever since the fall, Will hasn't spoken a word; it's been three months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I wanted to make it clear that all the psychological problems Will has will be portrayed to the best of my ability and knowledge. They will be treated as one of the main complications, not a cute trait or something that is easily gotten over. I have no mental disorders nor have I ever had any, so it may not be perfect and accurate*

Lebensmüde: literally means "life-tired" in German. Means you do such risky things that you clearly don't care for your own safety, or that you've entered a deep, physical state of not-caring; often used in place of the word "suicidal"

 

 

_Winston is going to be wondering where I am. I can’t imagine how many times he’ll wait on my front porch until he realises I’m not coming back. Maybe I can go back. He’d love it here. Small town with big backyards, kids always at the park, sometimes with other dogs. It may not be permanent but that’s okay he loves car rides. I wonder if Hannibal will let m-_

BLEEP. The annoying and consistent sound of items passing the scanner interrupts his train of thought. He looked up at the woman serving him and remembered where he was. His eyes did a little scan of his surroundings and his eyes landed on Hannibal beside him. He stopped worrying and relaxed his shoulders. _Geez, how long was I out?_  Will thought, humming the last syllable lightly.

It’s only been two months since they fell off the cliff- that cliff; the one that silenced Will. Will can still physically talk because he still wakes up every night screaming violent words and phrases, but when he’s conscious and aware of what he’s doing, he can’t. Something about killing The Dragon and attempting suicide made him unable to talk. Simply being asked to say anything would give him panic attacks. He has a lot of feelings associated with his inability to talk but the most prevalent one is woe.

“Are you two married?” The cashier girl asks, beaming brightly at Hannibal, then at Will. Will looks down at his right hand which is entwined with Hannibal’s, locking at the fingers. There, you can see Will’s bloody and bruised knuckles clearly, if you looked. Assuming everyone would stare at them if given the chance, and maybe even ask questions about it, Will removes his hand from the grip and uses his other to pull his sweater sleeve down and does the same for his left, grabbing the insides so it stays.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t make comments or assumptions on anything about us.” Hannibal answers, looking disgusted at the girl as her smile falters.

“Sorry. It’s just you two look cute together.” She seems nice and polite—she’s definitely trying to be—but everything she says only pushes her up Hannibal’s “rude people” list in his head. The comments she’s saying wouldn’t sound rude to anyone else, but Hannibal is clearly not as ignorant as they are.

“How much will this cost?” Hannibal asks, diverting the conversation to a different topic and further to a conclusion, while taking out his wallet.

“Fifty-nine dollars and twenty-eight cents,” She willingly followed. Hannibal hands over the money and takes two bags in his hand, gesturing for Will to take the other two. As they leave, Hannibal purposely ignores the girl’s gaze and Will bows his head in embarrassment. Hannibal holds both bags in one hand in case Will wants to hold it again, and Will knows that, but he doesn’t. Instead he walks in rhythm beside him with his sleeve still over his hands and a seemingly blank expression on his face.

_Why did I punch that mirror? I didn’t need to. I was just stupid and mad at nothing. Nothing especially bad happened that day besides waking up. Now everyone I walk past will see how broken I am and give me pitiful looks and sympathetic half smiles._

They walk in comfortable silence down the street. The store is within walking distance of their house, so they walked the scenic route. Their house is in the middle of two other houses and across from many more, hiding in plain sight. Knowing Jack Crawford and his history, he would see the tape of them slaughtering the red dragon brutally then falling off a cliff and he wouldn’t doubt that they’re dead. He’d be too engulfed in guilt to think twice about the whole thing, making it safe for them to be out in the open. He’d be too busy trying to redeem himself that he wouldn’t realise he doesn’t need to.

It’s midafternoon, autumn leaves crunching under their feet. It’s soundless and peaceful, like they’re back at Will’s house in Wolf Trap, watching the snow fall instead of leaves. The wind bites at Will’s neck causing him to shiver and tie his scarf tighter around his neck. It’s already tight, reminding him of the suffocating feeling of water filling his lungs. For a brief moment, he remembers that he did actually drown that day. He did actually lay on the sand lifeless, until Hannibal revived him. He is grateful that Hannibal saved him, but angered at the same time. He’s conflicted, no doubt, but when isn’t he? Will keeps his head down but reaches for Hannibal’s hand, which is still free. He lets out a little sigh.

“After we put these away,” Hannibal says, referring to the bags they’re holding “Out of the park and the lake, would you rather go to the park?” Will looks up from his shoes and shakes his head. His mouth twitches at the side, like he wants to reply, but something’s holding him back- _he’s holding himself back._ Noticing the sadness and self pity in Will’s eyes, Hannibal squeezes his hand lightly and replies “Okay.”

They continue walking, and what should have been a ten minute walk turned into a half hour walk. Once they got back, Will opened the door and put away all the groceries as Hannibal packed a picnic basket. Will likes to feel somewhat helpful because even though Hannibal says it’s not his fault he won’t talk, he still blames himself. He eyes every item of food before he puts it in its designated place in the cupboard, not remembering picking up any of them. He’s not losing time again, he just loses himself in thought a lot. He picks up a bottle of red wine, and recognises it after a few seconds of curious staring. It’s the same wine they drank before Hannibal got shot, and they killed The Dragon, and Will attempted murder-suicide. He doesn’t drop it dramatically and double over in panic like he used to, he’s held it so many times the meaning has faded. Maybe that was Hannibal’s plan. He just stares at it and puts it away.

“Shall we go now?” Hannibal asks, brushing his fingers up Will’s forearm lightly. Will nods this time, taking the basket from him. He balances it on his arm at the elbow and practically pulls Hannibal out the door. Hopping down the steps, Will calms himself. They go the back way, which no one ever goes. The walk there is normal paced, maybe a little bouncy.

 _I wonder what’s in this basket- oh, it’s that wine. When did he even pack it? Why? Oh but there’s also chocolate. Again, when did he even pack this? I was in the kitchen the whole time. Yay he brought bread to feed the ducks again._ Will was deep in thought the whole time and it made the walk seem like it didn’t even happen, though the scenery had assigned thoughts that he had thought while looking at them. The broken tree that never grows leaves is “If I can give a stone meaning by looking at it, maybe if I look at my reflection long enough the same will happen” and the bench with the rusted sides is “I think I’m in love”. If only Hannibal knew what every bit of the environment meant to him, then maybe he’d understand what a bench is besides its original purpose because a park bench to Hannibal is not a park bench to Will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I wrote this at 4am last night and 4am tonight. I can only work at ridiculous hours of the night time for some reason. I tried writing it during the day today, but I couldn't write as good.  
> Also I started listening to Muse and they're really good to listen to while writing to be honest.  
> *and I changed the title of the work to mean something more than a cliche*

A misty scent lingers in the air as the sun reflects off the water, making the fog noticeable. Shades of amber are painted warmly across the sky, colour changing mid-stroke in some places, contrasting the brown colours of tree leaves. Will’s scarf twists and jostles as the wind sweeps passed him, tracing the unnoticeable veins behind the pores of his cheek. He bites down on his own teeth as the cool wind threatens to make them chatter, hugging himself at the same time. Letting the air blanket him, trying to find a name for the sensation, he inhales deeply through his nose, angling his jaw upward slightly. “Freedom” he names it. It feels like a less escalated version of the fall, but without the intrusive stench of blood. There was a difference in the feeling of blood on his skin on the day of the fall compared to the day he killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. One felt justified, one didn’t. Will still doesn’t know which one Hannibal feels when he kills.

Hannibal also admired the view, watching the water shatter their reflection as the small fish under the surface scatter away at any movement made. Will moves his hand up, intending to go to his face, but he stops halfway. His eyes flick down to the rippling water where his eyes meet his own, bags underneath them that look like they weigh a tonne. A duck swims by, making him smile. He looks back up to Hannibal, his eyes already taking his image in, and signs a “thank you”. He was reluctant at first, because he felt it was the first step in giving up, but his desire to show gratitude was greater. Hannibal brings up his hand and rests the back of his fingers against Will’s cheek—the one with the scar from Dolarhyde’s knife—and does nothing more. Their stance in forms of a relationship goes unestablished. Will leans into it, fluttering his eyelids closed, and Hannibal traces the near-straight line of scarred tissue. He continues the line down to his defined jawbone where he settles his palm, fitting into it neatly with three fingers tucked under it. The air is still moving around them, though Will feels warm and fuzzy inside, and shuffles their hair. A few blocks of hair fall over Hannibal’s forehead, lazily framing his cheekbones, and Will chuckles. It isn’t everyday that you see Hannibal’s hair messy and not done. It gives Will a feeling of comfort.

Will pulls Hannibal into a tight hug, tangling his legs on either side of Hannibal’s left. Without hesitating, he reciprocates the hug, resting his chin in the crevasse of Will’s neck and collarbone. For a few bliss moments, they just stand still, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Usually, Hannibal’s the one to appreciate smells, but at this moment, Will, too, is feeling euphoric at the recollection of Hannibal’s scent. It’s not cologne, anymore, it is pure Hannibal. His suit is crumpling at where Will bunches it in his fists, and where his face digs into the chest. Hannibal is the one to pull back initially, and when he does, he plants a kiss on Will’s forehead, hands cupping both cheeks. He prefers forehead kisses for two reasons, one being that it’s never passionate, just affectionate; the second being that he isn’t sure if Will wants anything more. Will’s eyes captures Hannibal’s, trapping them as the luminescence radiates from them. Usually, his eyes seem to only reflect light, not produce it.

Hannibal leads Will over to the tree loosely by the hand where the basket is and sits down. Will sits between Hannibal and the basket, grabbing the bread immediately. Breaking it into little bits, Will chucks it across the grass, animals flapping and splashing distantly.

“Can we talk?” Hannibal asks. Usually, he doesn’t ask. He’s a straightforward kind of person. Will eyes Hannibal nervously, decoding his choice of words. He nods and throws more bread. “Why don’t you talk? I haven’t brought the subject up before, but it pains me to see you like this.” Hannibal asks, trying to be sympathetic, but he just comes off as ignorant.

Will pulls out a notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbles down something, the ducks in front of them nosing curiously at their feet. **“I’m not unhappy.”** is written on the note.

Hannibal frowns, looking at Will with some sort of sorry in his eyes. It’s the sort of look you get when someone hears your tragic back story and feels sorry _for_ you. It’s nothing new for Will, but Hannibal is the one he trusted not to be like the others.

_Why is he bringing this up now? And why does he seem so... bothered by it? Am I worrying him or annoying him?_

“It’s not normal, Will,” Hannibal sighs. His breath is visible and his eyes catch a glimpse of it. “And I quite miss the sound of your voice.”

Will seems to be getting defensively angry, writing quick messy letter on the page. **“Take one day without talking and tell me where your mind goes. You’d think insanity, not clarity.”**

Putting down the notepad and picking up the bread, Will tries to end the conversation. He looks at the ducks, a small cringe crumpling his face. _Great,_ Will thought, _now ducks remind me of disappointment._

Will, at this point, had pulled out coffee from a thermos and sipped it frequently, legs tucked up to support his wrists, trying to rid a form of tired that isn’t caused by lack of sleep. Will cut Hannibal off, the mere thought of anyone touching him at all seem so gross to Will.

_I sometimes wish he could read me like a book like he can read other people. Having my feelings out in the open seems more appealing than narrating the book myself._

He has almost finished his drink, silence throughout the both of them. Will, however, is content with it. Hannibal seems almost lost on what to do. He’s always been in professions that rely on talking, so silence seems almost vicious. Will tries to enjoy the warmth of caramel coffee in the back of his throat, focusing on the sunset, but feels guilt rise up inside him, clogging his airway. He lets out a sound which resembles a sob and Hannibal looks over. Closing the gap between them, Hannibal slots behind him, wrapping his arms around his like a teddy bear. His hands clasp his own neatly pressed against Will’s abdomen, Will covers them. It looks like he was going to remove Hannibal’s hands away, but keep them there at the same time. Undecided, he leans into Hannibal’s chest tiredly, slouching, and tilts his head back onto one of his shoulders. His hums something familiar. Hannibal could have sworn it was a “doctor”. He muzzled his face into Will’s neck again, giving light kisses. Continuing them up to his jaw, Will allowing him. Once he’s at the corner of his lips, he stops and looks at Will’s closed eyes, noticing his lack of glasses. He notices the small movements of his eyes under their lids, rapid, suggesting that he’s asleep.

Hannibal reaches for the notepad and writes something on it. “We should go before you are too tired.” It says. He nudges Will, who wakes with a jolt. Seeing the notepad at his hands, he reads it, chuckles, and stands up.

Will carries the basket as he looks around at every bit of sidewalk, hoping to walk past the rusty bench again; they always do.


End file.
